


thirty-six hours

by suzakukills



Series: Finally found each other [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzakukills/pseuds/suzakukills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming home after a long work-shift is nothing if you find your lover humming softly as he prepares dinner</p>
            </blockquote>





	thirty-six hours

Thirty six hours without a wink of sleep. The operation went on longer than planned and leaving the office became impossible.

Nijimura doesn’t even know how he manages to stand and walk to his own apartment, perhaps the satisfaction of knowing they caught the man they were after and had no casualties.

His right hand fishes for the key on his pocket, he pauses in front of the door. He can hear music playing, that old jazz cd his father had left behind after he passed away.

He hurries inside, his hands tremble as they open the door to his apartment. The scent of butter and something cooking hits him like a wave, he takes off his shoes, leaving them in the entry and he can see Haizaki’s outline from all the way back here.

He ‘s humming to the soft tune as he tosses the food up and down, skillfully, on the pan. His eyes wondering to the other dish preparing in the other skillet.

The table looks messily set up, two places.  _Was he expecting someone for dinner? They had one absolute rule, never bring them home_. His brother was a stranger and his mother had married off a chinese business man a long time ago. It couldn’t be family.

He creeped silently, taking a seat by the kitchen table, his right hand propped up so he could rest the side of his head, watching him intently.

His black hair tied back in a low pony tail, his jaw bruised, his wrists exposed, more than a cut visible from a past he’d sworn to never discuss.

No trace of the delinquent, the thug, the hardened elite police man that took care of things the regular police force couldn’t. No violence in his movements, no psychopathic streak as he brought up the spoon he used to stirr the food to his lips and tasted the food. It burned his tongue and he took a step back, almost dropping the pan.

His nose curled up and his lips scrunched, he looked like a kitten who tasted bad milk. If Nijimura smiled at that very moment no one would ever confirm it.

“Rule number one, never bring them into the house,” his black eyes stare intently as the words leave his mouth, expecting Haizaki to explain.

“Is that really what you want to say? I think Thanks are in order,” he grins and points at the food. The smell still fantastic.

“You mean this is for me?,” Nijimura asks

“For us, you idiot,” he corrects and turns off the stove.

“How did you know I was going to come back today?,” he questions, rising from the table and walking to the kitchen, peeking over Haizaki’s shoulder as he serves the food.

“Do you even know what I work in? I wonder who the real idiot between us is sometimes,” he says licking his fingers, when he’s covered in red sauce. Nijimura’s hips press to him sloppily.

His black eyes are glaring at him, like he’s going to kill him for daring to talk back so casually. ” _sir_ ,” Haizaki adds after a long pause and pushes him back, so he can put the food in the plates.

“I’m not an idiot roomate, you know, I can do things too, now go serve the table,” Haizaki smirks, an all knowing expression on his face. It feels good to boss him around for a change.

Nijimura’s hesitant to obey him, but after thirty six something hours he can let it pass. When they’re done placing everything else on the table - grey eyes look at the feast. Nijimura’s satisfied expression is a milimeter away from being perfect.

He stands next to Haizaki, before pulling him close, he holds him in place violently, his nose tracing the nape of his neck. Oil, butter and smoke from cooking. His fingers entangle in black hair and he undoes the low ponytail. The cook doesn’t fight back.

“How about an entree, first,” he suggests, whispering into Haizaki’s ear.

“An entree? what’s that?,” he asks, confused at the big words.

 _Why do I even try_ , Nijimura wonders before digging in, no five star restaurant could offer an entree such as this.


End file.
